


Last Hours

by kathkin



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last hours of two Imperial Officers on the second Death Star.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The incomplete Death Star gently orbited gently around the forest moon. Nearby, the not quite so massive construction that was Darth Vader’s super star destroyer loomed.

 In one of the many (or at least several) control rooms, one officer was trying to work, hopefully without the eight feet (or so it seemed) of black, shiny, heavy-breathing armour that was Darth Vader deciding that today was a good day for random, force-powered strangulation.

“Chung!” snapped someone.

“I… I mean, yes… I mean yes, _sir_ … I mean… no, wait…” he trailed off. His Captain stared at him.

“ _Lieutenant Chung_ , this is _Lieutenant Martel_.” He said, stressing both names as if speaking to a child. “He’s just been assigned here. Fresh out of the academy.” 

He paused. Martel smiled. Chung blinked, wondering if he should say something.

“ _Now_ ,” said the Captain. “ _When_ you go off duty, I’d like you to show him around the area.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We don’t want our _officers_ getting lost.”

“No, sir.”

“His sleeping quarters are in block seventy-eight, _I believe_.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now,” the Captain gestured vaguely at an empty chair. “Martel.”

“Yes, sir.” Said Martel, saluting sharply. His uniform was so new if crackled when he sat down. He waited until the Captain had left, then turned to Chung.

“Are we allowed to take our hats off?”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

A light began to flash on Chung’s control panel.

“One second,” he said, and pressed some switches. An image of a standard Imperial shuttle appeared on the screen. “We have you on our screen now,” he said into the comlink, “Please identify.”

“Shuttle Tydirium requesting deactivation of the deflector shield.” Answered the pilot.

“Can we do that?” said Martel. Chung nodded.

“Shuttle Tydirium, transmit the clearance code for shield passage.”

“Transmission commencing.”

A few seconds past before the code came up on the screen. Chung frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s not the current code.”

“Lieutenant?” said a voice from behind him. “Is there a problem?”

“Maybe, sir.”

Admiral Piett leaned forward.

“We haven’t used that code for months.”

“I know, sir.” He became aware of the horribly familiar breathing behind him. He looked up. Martel’s eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head.

“Where is that shuttle going?”

The Admiral leant forward again. “Shuttle Tydirium, what is your cargo and destination?”

“Parts and technical crew for the forest moon.” Said the distorted voice of the pilot.

Darth Vader remained silent for a second. “Do they have a code clearance?”

“It's an older code, sir, but it checks out. I was about to clear them.”

There was a lengthy pause. Chung’s fingernails dug into the palms of his hands.

“Shall I hold them?” said the Admiral.

“No,” said Darth Vader, “Leave them to me. I will deal with them myself.”

Admiral Piett raised his eyebrows. “As you wish, my lord.” He turned back to Chung. “Carry on.”

Chung switched on his comlink. “Shuttle Tydirium, deactivation of the shield will commence immediately. Follow your present course.”

He released the switch and waited until both the Admiral and the Sith had left before breathing out fully.

“What was that all about?” said Martel.

Chung sat back and put his hands over his face. “I have no idea.”

“Does he,” Martel glanced over at Darth Vader, “Do that every often?”

“Martel, I’d be more worried about him strangling you that interfering in your work.”

“I though he mostly strangled his admirals.”

“Yeah, but at the rate he gets through them, it’ll probably be one of us in a few weeks.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“What time do we go off duty?”

Chung glanced at the chrono. “In about five minutes.”

\-------------------

“You know,” said Martel, as they walked down a corridor, “You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Why we aren’t allowed to take our hats off.”

Chung stopped. “What does it matter?”

“Well... I don’t really like wearing hats.”

“Tough. You shouldn’t have joined up.” he started walking again.

“But _why_ can’t we take them off?”

Chung stopped and pivoted. “Well... it’s... they’re part of the uniform.”

“So? It’s not like they’re essential.”

“They’re part of the uniform.”

“You said that already.”

“They’re part of the uniform,” Martel raised an eyebrow. Chung glared at him. “So we’d hardly been Imperial officers without them, would we?”

“What,” said Martel, “So we’re not officers when we’re out of uniform?”  


“Well, no, but... wait.” he frowned. “ _Yes_ , we are, but...”

“Have you ever seen any of the Admirals take their hats off?”

Chung stared at him. “What’s _that_ got to do with anything?”

“Because by your logic, if they took their hats off they wouldn’t be Admirals any more, and we could give _them_ orders.”

“That doesn’t fit into my logic!”

“Yes it does!”

“No,” said Chung, “No, it doesn’t, because I just said that...”

Martel rolled his eyes and walked away.

“You better catch up,” he called over his shoulder. “Or I’m going to get lost.”

\--------------------

An hour or so later (though Chung had never been that clear on what constituted an hour when one was living on a giant spaceship orbiting a moon that didn’t have any intelligent inhabitants, and therefore didn’t really have it’s own hours), the two of them were attempting to unpack (or at least, Martel was trying to unpack, and Chung was trying to help by enforcing a mixture of his own system and the official system, and being pretty much ignored).

“I know it’s not the official system,” said Chung. “But it’s more logical than what _you’re_ doing.”

“Just because it doesn’t use your _personal_ logic doesn’t make it generally illogical.” said Martel. “Besides, who else is going to be looking in my underwear drawer? Do they have underwear inspections?” Chung stared at him. “Please tell me they don’t do underwear inspections.”

“There’s yet to be an underwear inspection.”

“Although,” said Martel, from half-in, half-out of his luggage, “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” He emerged, clutching a pair of boots. “Unless Darth Vader was the inspector. Because being strangled for not folding your underwear right would really suck.”

Chung stared, and the burst out laughing. “I don’t think he cares about your underwear.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Chung glanced down.

“You do know you’re not allowed to wear non-regulation stuff, right?”

“I’m not planning on wearing them.”

Chung briefly considered asking why he’d brought them if he wasn’t going to wear them, but dismissed it. He probably - almost certainly, in fact - wouldn’t get a decent answer.

“Though I don’t know how they’d know unless they had underwear inspections though. And seeing as you’ve already said they _don’t_ , I’d be safe.” he grinned. “Logical, see?”

“Never doubt the power of Darth Vader.”

“I wasn’t aware that he was capable of divining one’s underwear.”

“You never know.” Chung sat down on the bed.

Martel closed the drawer and stood up.

“You’re wrinkling the sheets.”

“I made the bed. Therefore I think I have the right to sit on it.”

“Fair enough.” he sat down next to Chung. “So do they inspect our quarters at all?”

“Not much right now. There’s a lot of other stuff going on.” he gestured at his own head. “Your hat’s at a weird angle.”

“So?”

“It looks weird.”

“So?”

“Never mind.”

There was a long pause. Martel straightened his hat (to Chung’s relief).

“That shuttle, earlier,” said Martel. “Who was on it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was the rebels?”

Chung sighed. “If they were rebels, why did he let them through?”

Martel shrugged. “He’s Darth Vader. Who knows how his mind works?”

There was another pause.

“Can I ask you a question and have you promise you won’t tell anyone?” asked Martel.

“Okay.”

“Do you ever think maybe we’re on the wrong side?”

Chung sighed. “I don’t think there is a wrong side. I mean,” he gestured vaguely. “If we win, in twenty years time they’ll be telling children how we heroically crushed the rebel scum. We lose, we’re the evil empire, and they’re the heroes. It’s the same two groups of people either way.”

“Yeah, but... now.”

Chung sighed again. “I picked a side, and I’m sticking with it.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what happens.”

Then it was Martel’s turn to sigh. He turned to look at the other man.

“You won’t tell anyone we talked about this, will you?” he said.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You just seem like that kind of guy.”

“I’m not.” Martel raised an eyebrow. “Really!”

Martel laughed, and it suddenly seemed that they were sitting far closer to each other than they had been a few seconds earlier. Chung noticed that his new friend was looking at him in a way that... he gulped, and was vaguely aware that breathing at a normal speed was suddenly very hard. 

Then someone’s comlink went off. They both jumped.

“That’s yours.” said Martel. 

Chung answered with some difficulty - his hands were trembling (for some reason. Must have been something to do with the heating systems). “Hello?” he said. “Yes. Yes, sir. Of course.”

“Who was it?”

“Out Captain. He wants to see us.”

“Right now?”

“Of course right now. It’s always right now.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ah!” said Captain Herek. “ _Chang_ and _Martel_.” 

Chung winced.

“I have some news for you,” continued the Captain. “Concerning the Death Star.”

The two Lieutenants glanced at each other.

“I’ve just received word,” the Captain began to pace with the air of a detective in the final chapter of a murder mystery, “That our _brothers_ have lost two Lieutenants.” He stopped in front of them. “Prepare to leave _right away_ , if you please.”

“You’re sending us, sir?” said Martel.

“Indeed.” he resumed pacing.

Martel shifted uncomfortably. “But sir,” he started, “I...”

“But _nothing_ , Lieutenant. Dismissed.”

Rather to Chung’s relief, Martel didn’t hesitate before saluting.

“But I’ve only just got here!” he said as soon as they were down the corridor (and hopefully out of earshot).

“Exactly. I bet no-one’ll even notice you’re gone.” he considered this. “Actually, I don’t think anyone’ll notice _I’m_ gone, either.” Chung sighed.

“If it’s any comfort, I’d notice you were gone. If I wasn’t coming as well.”

Chung stared at him. “Thanks. I think.”

“How’d they manage to lose two officers?”

“What?”

“I said...”

“I heard you, I heard you... but how should I know?”

Martel shrugged. “It was a semi-rhetorical question. I wasn’t really expecting you to know.” He paused. “But seriously, they couldn’t even have been in combat!”

“Why not?”

“They’re sending _us_ to replace them.”

Chung decided to ignore what had (almost) been an insult (it was, after all, a good point). “Good point.”

“So what happened to them?”

“I don’t know. It’s still in construction. Maybe there was an accident or something.”

Martel made a ‘I’m not so sure’ noise. “What if they were executed?”

Chung stopped abruptly.

“You ask so many questions! Stop asking so many questions!”

“What, is it like wearing your hat all the time? Is there a rule?”

“And there you go again!”

“But...”

“And unlike you, _all_ my stuff requires to be packed. So I’m just going to leave. Now. And pack.”

Martel watched him leave.

“I’m taking my hat off!”

“I don’t care!”

* * *

When Chung boarded the shuttle, Martel was already deep in conversation with the pilot.

“So there’s not actually a specific rule?”

“Well, it may be considered to come under the heading of not being in full uniform. But other than that, no.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You’re not still going on about the hat thing, are you?” said Chung. He slid into a seat.

“No, I was just asking him if we’re allowed not to wear underpants.”

Chung stared. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I’m still going on about the hat thing.”

There was a pause, and a hiss as the doors closed. Martel cleared his throat.

“Uh, Chung, I think...”

“So how long should this take?” Chung said to the pilot.

“About ten minutes, maybe?”

“Okay.” he sat back in his seat. There was a long pause as the ship took off.

“How come the Captain didn’t know your name? I mean, obviously because he’s got an awful memory, but he knew it earlier. Or is your name actually something else and you’ve just been humouring me?”

“I think it was just luck. He sort of cycles through the vowel sounds.”

“So you’re Chong sometimes?” Chung nodded. Martel laughed (as did the pilot, who, Chung thought rather rudely, had been listening).

“It’s kind of rude,” said Martel. “To listen to other people’s conversations.”

“I can’t help it. You’re sitting right behind me.” Said the pilot.

“Cover your ears.”

“I’m flying!”

“Use your feet.”

“I’m not that flexible!”

“I’ll cover ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“Why not? I have nice hands! Look!” He held his hands up for inspection.

“Yeah…” the Pilot didn’t sound so sure. “Was he, by any chance,” he said to Chung. “Dropped on his head when he was a baby?”

“How would I know? I only met him this morning.”

“You know, if I wasn’t so laid back, I’d be annoyed right now.” Said Martel.

“Good for you.”

* * *

The very-nearly-but-not- _quite-_ empty shuttle smoothly glided into the Imperial docking bay. The door opened equally smoothly, and Chung promptly managed to spoil this chain of smooth events by tripping over his own feet as he climbed out.

“Need a hand?” said Martel as he stepped over the other officer’s feet.

“No, I think I’ll manage.”

He stood up and retrieved his bag (Imperial standard issue. Very dull, and not worth describing).

“Want your hat back?” said Martel. He held out the previously mentioned headwear.

Chung glared.

“What? It fell off. Don’t look at me like I stole it or something.”

“You better not have done,” said Chung, as he tugged his hat back on. “Or I’ll be very, very angry.”

“So you’re not going to threaten me with physical violence, then?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I guess.”

“Officers!” exclaimed somewhere nearby. The two men simultaneously recognized the ‘I’m a superior officer, I’m well aware of it, and I expect you to react to my superiority’ tone and jumped into their well-rehearsed standing-to-attention-type pose.

“It’s-” the Colonel paused briefly to check their names, “Chung and Martel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” said Chung.

“At ease.”

They relaxed slightly. He beckoned for them to follow him.

“This way.”

They were led out of the docking bay through what was almost a maze of corridors until they reached a junction.

“Your station,” said the Colonel, pointing one way down the corridor, “Is in that direction. You’re not need on duty until the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” said Chung.

Martel echoed him, then frowned. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Our quarters, sir?”

“Ah. Yes. That way,” he gestured in the opposite direction, “room-” he paused again to check the details, “17/81/9.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Colonel beckoned the stormtrooper who apparently had nothing better to do than follow one officer around as he did his duties (presumably in case of a mutiny of some kind) to follow him in a third completely different direction.

There was a silent agreement (it involved a few vague gestures and nods) and the two of them headed down the corridor, hopefully towards their room.

“He only said one room.” said Martel.

“Yes.”

“I guess that means we’re sharing.”

“Guess so.”

“Uh, Chung...” Martel cleared his throat. Chung walked a little faster in an attempt to get away from the next few words. “Chung, we need to talk.”

Chung stopped in his tracks and spun around. “No we don’t. Talk about what? We have nothing to talk about. Why would we have anything to talk about.”

He made another attempt to get away.

“Look, about earlier...”

Chung stopped and turned again. “Nothing happened.” Martel started to speak. “Nothing. Happened.”

He tried to walk away again, but this time he only got a few steps.

“What, is some stupid rule about that too? Is there actually a rule? Or is it like the hat thing? Is there some stupid rule that isn’t even a rule?

“Look, can we just not...”

“Because, y’know, there’s no reason why you have to wear your hat all the time. there’s no actual rule. Nothing bad will happen if you take your hat off.” he pulled his hat off so fast that his hair was left sticking out at various different yet equally odd angles. “See?”

A passing Captain, who apparently had managed not to notice the building argument, paused briefly in his purposeful marching. “Put your hat on, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” Martel pulled his hat back on and waited until the Captain was out of earshot. “And I was trying to make a point there! And it may have worked if _someone_ hadn’t gone and _ruined_ it!” he turned back to Chung. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?”

Chung shook his head in exasperation and carried on walking.

“Look, can you just...” Martel grabbed his arm. Chung snatched it away as if he’d been grabbed by some kind of diseased slime monster.

“Don’t touch me.”

Martel stared at him for quite a while (though probably not as long as it seemed to them both).

“And you said you weren’t that kind of guy.”

* * *

“I’m unpacking,” Martel said a few minutes later, as Chung walked it. “Please don’t interfere this time.”

“Okay.”

“I took the bunk on the left.”

“That’s okay.”

“I didn’t ask you if it was okay.”

* * *

There then followed an extended period of uncomfortableness, probably caused by both officers doing their very best to ignore the other whilst simultaneously unpack in the same small room, and then caused by the fact that the Death Star somehow managing to be several hours ahead of them (food, it turned out, is not important enough to break the rigid routine for).

The next morning, Chung woke up in a room devoid of any other kind of intelligent life. He considered this, and decided that Martel had probably already got up and left, presumably in an attempt to get at some kind of food as soon as possible.

A few minutes later, he was up, dressed, and standing in the middle of the laundry wondering how he’d managed to end up there when he’d been heading for the mess hall.

His pondering was interrupted by the arrival of several rather depressed looking men with what looked like half a planet’s worth (which was probably fairly accurate given the size of the Death Star) of dirty uniforms.

* * *

Chung stood in the mess hall, feeling extremely glad that the depressed laundry-men had been kind enough to give him some directions (it occurred to him that he might be in the wrong mess hall, but then he noticed Martel sitting at a table and decided to trust him).

He began to debate whether to join the one person he already knew, or sit at a table with people who would probably get annoyed if he just sat down, but would laugh at him for asking permission only to be rudely interrupted.

“Hey!” called the only guy sitting at a table with Martel. He gestured vaguely at an empty seat. “Chung, isn’t it?” he said as Chung sat down.

“Yeah.”

The other man gestured at Martel. “He was just talking about you. I’m Tarshan.”

“Hello.”

“You and hats. He was saying…”

“That it’s stupid and there’s no specific rule and we shouldn’t wear them and he doesn’t like hats.”

“That just about covers it.”

“I’ve heard it all.”

“Even the part about some people saying that we wouldn’t be officers if-”

“I said that.”

“Huh?”

“That was my argument. That we wouldn’t really be officers if we weren’t wearing hats.”

“Oh.” He paused to consider this. “Well, it’s a stupid argument.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, I gotta go. I’m on duty soon. There’s a lot to do today.”

“I know.”

“See you around.”

Chung watched him depart.

“What were you saying about me?” Martel didn’t answer. “Martel? What were you saying to him?”

“I’m aware that you’re talking to me,” said Martel. “But I’m afraid I’m currently eating and therefore unable to respond.”

“But what were you saying about me?”

“Nothing.”

“He said you were talking about me.”

“Alright, fine. I said you were a retired Rancor-trainer who only joined up because you have a hat-fetish.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I only told him the bit about the hat-fetish and about you being a Rancor-trainer.”

“…That’s all of it.”

“What? I can’t help it. I lie a lot.”

“Who were you lying to? Me or him?”

“Both, actually. But mostly you.”

“What did you say to him about me that isn’t true?”

“That I like you.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t.”

“I noticed.”

“Very perceptive of you. Now finish eating, I think we have to report for duty together. I have a suspicion that we’re replacing a pair of conjoined twins.”

* * *

“Alright,” said the Colonel (he still had a stormtrooper with him. Chung wondered if it was the same one), “We are expecting the battle to have begun by 1400 hours. Currently, we know little of the Rebel plans, but we hope to gain more information during the morning. Because of this, it has been decided that our priority should be getting the Death Star fully operational. As it is, we’re performing the last checks on the system. Other than that, there’s little that can be done until the battle actually begins. Now, please return to your stations.”

“Is it just me,” Chung heard Martel say as they sat down, “Or was that just a really complicated way of saying ‘there’s nothing you can do right now, so just look busy’?”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” said the officer next to Chung.

“Yeah, I think it’s just about the same as it was-”

“Well, if you need any help…”

“I’ll ask.”

* * *

The morning went on. Every few minutes Chung found himself glancing up from his work (which mostly seemed to involve making sure all the people actually running the final checks knew what all the others were doing) to look at Martel (who was usually either talking to Tarshan, swivelling his chair around for no apparent reason, or both. It seemed he had even less work to do than Chung).

Some time around midday, when it had just occurred to Chung that he should probably be getting rather nervous, the man next to him (whose name he’d yet to learn) vanished off to do some official task.

A moment later, the chair next to him rattled. He jumped.

“You know, Tarshan is quite possibly the dullest guy I’ve ever met.” Said Martel.

“Huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So why are you over here?”

“I’m bored.”

“So you came over here?”

“Yeah.”

“In order to alleviate your boredom?”

“Yeah.”

“You came over here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“To talk to me?”

“Yes. Is that so wrong?”

“Well, I wouldn’t consider myself to be very interesting. Also you kept saying you don’t like me.”

Martel frowned. “Oh yeah. I forgot.” He swivelled his chair around in a full circle, still frowning.

“You know,” said Chung. “If it’d make you stay here, I’ll apologise for the stuff I said that you didn’t like.”

“Well, I’ll admit I’m not really angry any more. But I have principles.”

“So is that a no, then?”

“It really should be, shouldn’t it?”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Ah, excuse me,” said the man whose name Chung didn’t know. “This is my station.”

“Oh, we’ve been swapped. You’re over there now.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

Martel nodded sincerely.

“Who told you?”

“A Major. He left. I don’t know his name.”

“Well, alright.”

Chung watched him leave.

“What was that all about?”

“I have no idea.”

“You’ll get in trouble for it.”

“Who’s gonna notice? I bet we all look the same to them.” He gestured with his head towards a group of senior officers. “Anyway-”

He was interrupted by an alarm, several flashing lights, and someone shouting ‘Rebel fleet approaching!’

“Someone’s being overly punctual.” Said Martel.

“Someone’s making inappropriate jokes.” Said Chung.

“We have shields, and apparently we’re operational now. So unless they have some extra-special plan to take the shield down, we’re probably safe.”

“You know,” said Chung. “Up until you said that, they probably didn’t have any plan.”

“And now they do?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m never gonna get my head around your logic.”

* * *

The battle began. The Rebel ships were surprised by the lack of a lack of defences and promptly attacked by more TIE-fighters than they could handle. The Imperials showed off the weapons systems on their new, hopefully improved (though somewhat holey) Death Star. A control-room worth of communications officers had very little to do other than watch.

“I’m trying to decide,” said Martel, “Whether I’m glad that we’re all the way over here away from the danger, or annoyed because I can’t see what’s going on.”

“I think they’re attacking the star destroyers. Seems a bit pointless.”

“They brought down the first Death Star like that.”

“Good point, but I don’t think...”

He was cut off by a sudden alarm, and someone shouting.

“Sir, we’ve lost our shields!”

“Keep working. They won’t get through.”

“But sir-”

“Keep working, Lieutenant!”

“But sir, they’ve-”

“KEEP WORKING!” shouted the Colonel. Then he turned, said something to his stormtrooper, and they both left the room. This seemed a little hypocritical, assuming he was planning on leaving the station, and also slightly sadistic given that he’d forbidden his subordinates from leaving, and therefore probably saving their own lives. Chung briefly considered saying something about this, but was quickly distracted.

The Lieutenant who’d spoken cleared his throat. “They’ve flown into the main exhaust port.”

There was a few moments of silence as everyone wondered exactly what they should do, and then about half the men in the room were on their feet and heading towards the doors.

“I didn’t hear the order to evacuate...” Chung heard Tarshan say.

“You coming?” called Martel from the other side of the room. He had, Chung noticed, removed his hat. He hesitated for a moment, then snatched his own off and left it on his chair.

He couldn’t help noticing as he ran to the door that several men followed suit. “Someone’s influence is spreading.” He muttered.

* * *

Several minutes later, Chung followed Martel down a corridor.

“I still don’t know why you’re speaking to me again.”

“Aw, I can’t stay mad at you. You’re just too cute.”

Chung stopped in his tracks. “Don’t do that!”

Martel stopped, turned, and stared at him. “Uh, we kind of need to get out...”

“You’re just doing it to upset me, aren’t you?”

Martel took a few steps forward. “Well, now that you’ve said it... you’re even cuter when you’re angry.”

“Stop it!”

“By your logic, the angrier you get the more I’ll do it. Cutie.”

Chung didn’t answer; instead, he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. It was kind of hard when he was surrounded by panicking people trying to carry apparently random objects to the nearest docking bay. “Please stop it.”

“Fine, fine. But I really don’t get why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“Well- I- It’s- Well-”

Martel leaned forward. “You said ‘well’ twice.”

He’d had enough; Chung turned and marched away down the corridor, not caring that he was going in completely the wrong direction. Martel watched him go, then turned away. “Oh, whatever.” He muttered.

He was about to leave when an explosion rocked the entire corridor, seemingly in two directions at once; he was left lying on the floor, and stayed there until he realised that someone had cried out behind him.

“Chung?” he said, climbing to his feet. There was no answer. “Chung?!” he called as he turned and ran back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” croaked Chung from under what seemed to be a large chunk of the wall.”I think so. Maybe.” Martel dropped to his knees next to him. “No. I hurt.”

“Oh, no…” said Martel.

“We’re not going to get out of here in time,” said Chung. “Are we?”

There was a a few seconds of tense indecision. “No,” said Martel. “No, I’m gonna get you out of here.” He wrapped his arms around Chung and pulled him to his feet. “C’mon.”

* * *

They struggled down the corridor, one of them half-leading, half-carrying the other, trying to ignore the noise and the panicking people.

“I think we’ll nearly there.” Said Martel.

“Good.” Said Chung.

“Then,” he said. “We’re gonna get the hell out of here, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not coming back.”

“You won’t be able to. It won’t exist.”

“I meant to the empire. I may’ve only been here a few days, but I’ve had enough already.”

“I s-still don’t get why you joined in the first place.”

“Oh, both my brothers did. I felt like my parents were expecting me to follow them.”

“I don’t have any b-brothers.”

“Sisters?”

“No.”

“Only child?”

“Y-yes.”

“One of my brothers,” said Martel as they turned a corner. “Is a pilot.”

“Oh, r-really?”

“Yeah. I think he ws shot down a few weeks ago though.”

“Is h-he okay?”

“He survived.”

“W-what about your other brother?”

“He’s a mechanic. They’re in the same unit.”

“That’s n-nice for them.”

“Yeah, they like it. I ended up on my own and doing all the dull stuff.”

“I like w-working in communications.”

“It’s dull.”

“S-so?”

“Whatever, man of the weird logic. We’re nearly there.”

They rounded the last corner, with the station collapsing around the, just in time to see the last shuttle pulling out, wings unfolding, before Chung collapsed. Martel followed him down, and they sat motionless for a second. Then they turned to look at each other.

“M-martel?” said Chung.

“Yeah?”

“I-”

FIN.


End file.
